


the dice was loaded from the start (or, three times real madrid meddle and the one time they didn’t need to)

by bleedingdaylight



Series: NaNoWriMo 2014 [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: 3 Things, Fluff and Crack, M/M, The Ache in Your Legs Footy Ficathon, Why is the summary so long woops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingdaylight/pseuds/bleedingdaylight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an attempt at <a href="http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/31896.html?thread=692120#t692120">this prompt</a> for the footy ficathon.</p><p>He unlocked his phone to find himself staring down at a picture of the back of his head while tufts of blond hair were sticking up between the space between their chairs. The caption read, <i>Watch out Gareth and Cristiano, we have a new club power couple!</i> with about a thousand emojis of varying hearts and kissy faces.</p><p>James’ face flushed bright red and he angrily typed back, <i>I hate all of you,</i> which received a multitude of offended texts from different players, ranging from scandalized (<i>BUT I THOUGHT WE HAD A SPECIAL CONNECTION, HAMEZ</i>, Chicharito had replied, followed by an obscene amount of crying and woe is me emojis and completed by a haiku that highlighted the tragedy that was Chicha’s love life) to thoroughly amused (<i>Mixed lovechildren are the best kind</i>, Arbeloa wrote cheekily, and James glared at him with the fury of a thousand suns from his seat. Unfortunately for James, forever cursed with a baby face, Arbeloa just laughed at his face, which looks more like he just ate a super sour lemon than anything else).</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dice was loaded from the start (or, three times real madrid meddle and the one time they didn’t need to)

**Author's Note:**

> the original prompt was: _the team keep taking pictures of us [trying to] talk/sitting together/when you fell asleep on my shoulder and sending to the real madrid whatsapp group with stupid captions implying we have a crush on each other (we totally don't tho right)_ and then it just turned into this mess.
> 
> i know the timeline doesn't make sense for the third and plus one but just bare with me okay because rm's win against rayo was the best thing ever okay shhh just believe me.
> 
> i have so many other things to write but i chose to write this so enjoy?? sorry to the people i've kept waiting ;____;
> 
> title from _romeo and juliet_ by the dire straits.
> 
> thank you to ying for the translation into chinese! if you want to check it out, [click here](http://michelle10407.lofter.com/post/1d3c462b_7daa568)!

**one.**

It started when Toni accidentally fell asleep on James’ shoulder during the flight back from Bulgaria. The whole team was brimming with excited energy coming off of a win in the Champion’s League against a team neither of them could pronounce at all, but as the flight dragged on and there was a lull in conversation (and in Sergio’s god-awful celebratory flamenco music), players began to nod off.

Toni was trying to get his audio Spanish lesson in for the day, the topic being football (as always), and he was silently mouthing along to the tape when it told him to repeat the words. James giggled at his concentrated frown and the way he looked when he was confused with a pronunciation. Every time he didn’t understand the tape, he’d poke James and try to explain to him his confusion in a mixture of English, Spanish and German. It was a weird combination but it worked for them most of the time. James would repeat the phrase in Spanish until he felt Toni said it well enough that others would understand him without laughing at his odd accent.

After about a half an hour into the flight, James felt a weird weight on his right shoulder and was surprised to find himself nose deep in blond hair when he turned to his head to look. He giggled silently at how cute Toni looked with his mouth slightly open and how peaceful he looked, a sharp contrast from when he’s on the pitch, his face contorted into an expression of hard concentration and focus. James admired his drive on the pitch, but enjoyed the company of Toni when he was peaceful and relaxed.

“Why, isn’t this just _adorable_?” James heard from behind him and turned slightly, just enough so that he didn’t bother Toni, to see Marcelo and Cristiano, huge mischievous grins on their faces. Marcelo was holding a beer while Cristiano had his phone out with a sparkle in his eye that James had learned not to trust after two months of playing with the Portuguese star. Marcelo and Cristiano were always a dangerous combination when they were together, always pranking and up to no good.

James just rolled his eyes and ignored his teammates, settling back into his seat. He thought he hears what sounds like an iPhone camera but decided that it’s his imagination, and even is it’s not, it’s not worth his time or what little energy he has left.

He changed his mind when he gets a text from the massive Real Madrid group chat Sergio started in Whatsapp over the summer from Cristiano and Marcelo. He unlocked his phone to find himself staring down at a picture of the back of his head while tufts of blond hair were sticking up between the space between their chairs. The caption read, _Watch out Gareth and Cristiano, we have a new club power couple!_ with about a thousand emojis of varying hearts and kissy faces.

James’ face flushed bright red and he angrily typed back, _I hate all of you_ , which received a multitude of offended texts from different players, ranging from scandalized ( _BUT I THOUGHT WE HAD A SPECIAL CONNECTION, HAMEZ_ , Chicharito had replied, followed by an obscene amount of crying and woe is me emojis and completed by a haiku that highlighted the tragedy that was Chicha’s love life) to thoroughly amused ( _Mixed lovechildren are the best kind_ , Arbeloa wrote cheekily, and James glared at him with the fury of a thousand suns from his seat. Unfortunately for James, forever cursed with a baby face, Arbeloa just laughed at his face, which looks more like he just ate a super sour lemon than anything else).

James turned his phone on Do Not Disturb mode as all the texts keep coming in. He hated his friends, he decided as he himself nods off.

And when he hit Cristiano and Marcelo for posting another picture of them, from the front this time, James’ head on top of Toni’s, he felt a bit satisfied.

“I don’t like him like that,” James tried to convince them as he continued to punch Cristiano in the shoulder, who doesn’t look bothered at all. It sounded so high school and stupid but it’s true.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Cristiano winked at him and James’ face heated up indignantly. “That’s what they all say.”

James just pursed his lips. “I hate you all,” he said finally and stalked off the runway and into the airport, where the jungle of flashing cameras and screaming fans was waiting for him.

**two.**

Training had been hell and James just wanted to go home and curl into a ball and die. Instead, he opted to take a long, hot shower, ignoring his teammates’ annoyed protests. Showers, much like football, have always been there to calm James down after a rough match or training session.

He took his time cleaning himself up and when he trudged back into the main dressing room, more than half of the team was gone. Cristiano, who James was beginning to think of as a machine, had just came in from the pitch, always staying a half an hour or longer than everyone else. James didn’t understand how he did it first, but has learned that’s it’s just how he works. Toni was still there, a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets falling onto his shoulders from his wet hair. James’ mouth went dry.

Karim must have already left because his dressing area was cleaned up, his bib hanging up and his socks folded neatly in his locker. James silently moved past Toni, carefully not to brush up against him because who knows what that would lead to. James cursed himself for not even having enough self-control to be around Toni. It doesn’t matter how amazingly hot he is or how James thinks their bodies would fit together like puzzle pieces, James should be able to control his hormones for god’s sake. He’s a twenty-three year old man, not a teenager.

James was in the middle of putting his briefs back on when he hears a throat clear. He looked up to see Toni staring at him, face beet red. “Uh, I think I dropped my shirt over there?” he said, his eyes rapidly flickering between the floor and James, who tried his best to cover himself before an even more awkward moment arose.

James, who still has his briefs around his thighs, doesn’t know what he should do. Toni’s eyes flicker everywhere and his face is getting redder by the second, so James reached down to get his shirt and when he hears Toni make what sounds like a croak, James realized he just flashed his own teammate with his ass.

Mortified, James quickly picked up the shirt that was currently ruining his life and his relationship with his teammate and practically threw it at the German. He dressed the quickest he ever has in his life, even after that one time he woke in a stranger’s bed with the stranger’s apparent boyfriend standing over him after a seriously misguided one night stand with said stranger after winning the friendly against Bolivia with Colombia. He left immediately after that, eye downcast and legs carrying him as if he was on the pitch.

When he got in his car and checked his phone, he almost threw it out the window. _I think there should be a rule about not having eye sex in the dressing rooms_ , Cristiano had sent with a picture of Toni and James looking at each other with James more than half naked.

 _Fuck all of you. Why did I even join this team?_ James sent back because he’s seriously beginning to wonder.

  
**three.**

Everyone was reeling after the win over Rayo. Sergio was singing along to loud flamenco music in the dressing room after the game and James couldn’t find it in himself to complain, especially since Sergio just scored his fiftieth goal for the club. In fact, he began singing along to it, too. He got pulled into dancing with Sergio, who kept shouting that James’ hips don’t lie. It was a horrible joke but James laughed anyway.

The whole team go out to a club that Cristiano insisted was the best thing ever (“So if you were a club, you would be this place?” Gareth asked teasingly when he suggested it. “Fuck you, but yes,” Cristiano replied with a cheeky smile and a harmless slap on the back on the head.). Sergio even tried to convince _el míster_ to come out with them. He politely declined as he promised his wife he would be home for dinner that night. Sergio was disappointed for about a total of two minutes until Isco handed him a beer which he downed in about thirty seconds, much to Iker’s horror.

“The season is still going on, you do realize that, yes?” he said as he eyed Sergio with distaste. “I know internationals are coming up this week, but that doesn’t mean you can drink your weight in beer.”

Sergio rolled his eyes at his best friend and the strictest captain ever. “Iker, you used to be fun,” he whined, hooking his arm around the goalkeeper and pulling him towards the bar. “Now you’re all strict and boring like the old man you are.”

“I am not,” Iker protested vainly. “I’m responsible while you still act like you did when you were twenty-three except without that god-awful haircut, thank all things holy.”

“Yes, you are. And my long hair was more luscious than any haircut you could ever have, so fuck off,” Sergio retorted easily. “If you weren’t boring, you’d at least have one beer.” He rose a challenging eyebrow.

The keeper just rolled his eyes. “Did I say that you act like you’re twenty-three? Sorry, I meant you act like you’re five.”

James watched this whole exchange with a silly smile on his face and he played with the bottle in his hand. He wasn’t a heavy drinker whereas Toni was on his third beer already and they have only been in the bar for fifteen minutes. James pointed and laughed at him and the German went all red.

“Sorry,” he said shyly. “We used to drink a lot after good games when I was still in Germany.”

James waved his hand around the air as if to dispel Toni’s insecurities. “It’s fine,” he replied. “I just didn’t realize you could drink that much. You don’t really seem like the type.”

Toni shrugged with a smile. “I am German after all.”

They sat in comfortable silence, James sipping at his beer while Toni continued to go at an outrageous pace until James’ face completely brightened when he heard a familiar Colombian song that his national teammates and he always danced to on the bus ride to matches.

“I love this song,” James admitted to Toni, who looked up in surprise. “My national teammates and I call it the unofficial Colombian national anthem.”

“Do you want to dance?” Toni asked, a cheeky smile playing on his lips and James was taken aback by Toni’s forwardness. Usually the German was shy, but maybe the beer caused him to be more out-going. Either way, James was in no position to turn down his offer.

“Sure,” James smiled and he blamed it on the half of bottle of beer he drank. They went out on the floor together, packed between tons of people in expensive clothing, all jumping and dancing to the music in a weird syncretism, and James couldn’t help but feel like he’s in one of those stupid romance movies with the stupid dance scenes that his mother loved so dearly.

James rocked his hips like he always does; dancing to this song is basically as natural as breathing to him at this point, and he laughed at Toni’s awkward dancing. He pulled Toni in closer to him with a quick smile and a shake of his head and hold his hips. He moved them the way he wanted them to move, up and down with the beat. Toni watched his hands and looked up at him in awe, almost as if he was some kind of dance god.

James chuckled and continued to move to the beat, pushing Toni’s hips up and down with his. He thought he heard someone whistle in the background but he ignored it, completely focusing on the German and his inability to move to the rhythm, even with James’ help.

After the song ended, James came out of his trance and dropped his hands from Toni’s hips like they had been burned. James thought he saw a disappointed look on Toni’s face but just chalked it up to wishful thinking. They migrated off of the dance floor and back to their seats at the bar, where Sergio was waiting with a smirk. James knew immediately that he was up to no good.

“Check your phones,” he told them with a teasing tone when they’re in hearing distance. Toni and James shared an apprehensive look and then an irritated one when they see what Sergio means.

 _This PDA is getting out of hand_ , Sergio sent in the group chat, accompanied by a picture of James and Toni dancing. They were both looking down at James’ hands on Toni’s hips. They were a lot closer than James thought they were; their lips looked like they were almost touching.

An influx of messages came in at the same time, most of them being triumphant messages about won bets ( _Suck it, Modric, you just lost a hundred euros!_ Gareth sent from Cristiano’s phone) while Chicharito sent woeful messages about tragedy and love and betrayal.

James decided he hated his so-called “friends” and their inability to function like normal, sane human beings.

“Sorry about them, they’re idiots,” James told Toni, who just laughed, his cheeks tinted a cute pink. “Especially Chicharito. There’s something seriously wrong with him.”

Toni shrugged and they stood in silence once more until they turned to each other at the same time and said, “You want to get out of here?”

They laughed and snuck out together, making sure no one, especially not their teammates, who never let them live it down, see them. And if James’ hand somehow ended up in Toni’s back pocket, neither of them commented on it.

**+one.**

“Oh my god,” Cristiano blurted out before training started the next day, his entire mouth dropping open. “Holy shit. _Holy shit_.”

“What?” Marcelo, who was more hungover than after winning the Confederation’s Cup the year before, questioned as he stretched his calves. He came back up into a sitting position and made grabby hands for Cristiano’s phone, which he was clutching with dear life. Cristiano handed it to him wordlessly, his mouth still hanging open and when Marcelo saw what had Cristiano wound up so tightly, he dropped Cristiano’s phone on the pitch. “Holy fucking shit. This can’t be real, can it? We’re not just seeing things?”

Cristiano made a noise that even Marcelo couldn’t begin to decipher. Marcelo called Sergio, who looked thoroughly displeased that his oh so important conversation with Iker was interrupted, over and handed him the phone. “Please tell me this is real.”

Sergio took one look at the picture and began to laugh so hard he fell to the ground, clutching his stomach vainly. “Oh my _god_ ,” he guffaws, choking on air and the tears that streamed down his face. “This is actually perfect.”

Iker came jogging over, his face wary as he eyed Sergio rolling on the ground, laughing so hard that it might actually kill him, while Cristiano and Marcelo stood there, eyes downcast and mouth opened in shock. He picked up the phone that Sergio dropped during his...honestly, Iker doesn’t even know what to call it, _episode_ and his eyes went wide when he sees it.

 _So that you guys would finally back off_ , the caption read under a picture of James and Toni, _kissing_. Iker’s mind screeched to a stop when he register their attire, or the lack of it. There’s a bed sheet covering both of their naked chests and Iker dropped his phone not wanting to know more. He thought he felt his face heat up a little bit at knowing what his junior colleagues get up to when they’re alone, but he’s used to knowing a bit too much about his teammates’ private life from being the captain of both Real Madrid and Spain, both nightmares on a good day to captain.

“Get back to training,” he just muttered at his teammates and stalks off, the sound of Sergio’s laughter following him like a ghost.

Somewhere just outside the city of Madrid, James and Toni were wrapped up in each other, bodies tangled all the way from their toes to their necks, cackling at the radio silence from their teammates.

“I think we got them good,” Toni whispered to James, who shot the German his devastating smile. Toni just pulled the Colombian closer and decided that it’s a good time to use their first sick day.


End file.
